Chronicles of Horatio
by rejoice489
Summary: “It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain!” And thus begins the ending, in Horatio's point of view. A rewritten account of the Shakespearean play Hamlet of the last scene, told by the only living survivor.


I bit back a cry of indignation, somehow managing to stifle my shocked feelings with a placid expression, a façade I have long learned to mask my face. My Hamlet was hit. It wasn't deep; I had nothing to worry about. But mortification grew with young Laertes' spoken words.

"It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain!"

_But how? 'Tis naught a scratch!_ I wanted to exclaim. To my left, the queen gave a small shout and fell. Aghast, I turned away from Laertes and Hamlet to survey the Queen. For a dull moment I was frozen against my will. _The Queen!_ I rushed to her side. King Claudius was already there, his face peculiarly white in pallor, tingeing a shade of green. Sweat beaded his forehead.

_What have you done?!_

"No med'cine in the world can do thee good," Laertes was saying. "In thee there is not half an hour's life. The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, unbated and envenomed."

I swiveled at those words. _Hamlet!__He cannot be dieing!_ But I knew. Oh, I knew! Already his color was fading, his face an ashen gray, the color of death. At this, I did utter a sound. I moaned a mournful cry.

"The foul practice hath turned itself on me. Lo, here I lie, never to rise again." Laertes grasped at the ground, struggling to say more. "Thy mother's poisoned. I can no more. The King, the King's to blame!"

_My Queen is dead…_

"The point envenomed too," Hamlet murmured, studying the sword in his hand intensely. He stepped unsteadily towards the dead Queen, to the murderer; Uncle and Father. "Then, venom, to thy work!"

_Oh, Hamlet, do not-! _I caught the words just before they left my mouth. But it was already too late. Hamlet plunged the sword into his Uncle's treacherous heart.

The people called around me, "Treason! Treason!"

Claudius quivered and, spurned on by their cries, spoke past the blood filling his mouth, "Oh, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt."

_To have the nerve-! You have killed, and yet you pride on defending yourself by placing the blame on another! Wish that I had Hamlet's sword; I would stab thee again, and again!_

"Here thou incestuous, murderous, damnéd Dane, drink off this potion!" Hamlet forced the poisoned chalice to his Uncle's sinful lips like a hot coal. "Is thy union here? Follow my mother," he roared. Almost immediately the King stiffened, his eyes staring past Hamlet towards me in an almost condemning glare. Ruthlessly, Hamlet pulled away from the body; the chalice fell to the floor with a clatter, spilling unnatural drink 'round, and the King's body slid off the bench onto the earth.

_Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…_

"He is justly served," Laertes cringed in pain, spitting aside the bile that rose in his mouth. "It is a poison tempered by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet."

My lord turned towards Laertes, lying there, begging on the floor. Pacing the few steps there, Hamlet crouched down next to his lovers' brother, offering his hand.

"Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, nor thine on me." Hamlet nodded. Laertes seemed to stare into Hamlet's gaze forever. Finally, his eyes rolled back into his skull, and his head collapsed to the ground.

I swallowed uneasily, another one dead. But not the last. I hastened to my lord's side.

"Heaven make thee free of it. I follow thee," Hamlet whispered softly.

_Hamlet! Please don't-!_

Hamlet stumbled to his knees beside Laertes, grabbing my shoulder like an anchor to Earth. "I am dead, Horatio." I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain of his words. _I won't leave you, my friend,_ I promised.

Passed me he looked, at what was left of his mother; naught but a lifeless husk now. "Wretchéd queen, adieu," breathed he.

Using the last of his strength, Hamlet addressed our spectators in a loud, regal voice. The voice of a king. "You that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act, had I but time (as this fell sergeant, Death, is strict in his arrest), O, I could tell you- but let it be."

Slowly, he turned to me, the vigor of his life raining away. "Horatio, I am dead." Tears cascaded down my face in an ungainly manner. Urgently, I tried to suppress the rest. This was not how I wanted to be remembered by my prince and friend. They were aught to subside.

"Thou livest;" uttered Hamlet in a wondrously sweet voice. "Report me," he commanded. "And my cause aright to the unsatisfied."

I choked out, "Never believe it. I am more an antique Roman than a Dane." My gaze was caught by the flicker of fire glinting on the floor. The chalice. It lay there, sparkling glamorously in the light. _I won't leave you, friend. I'll follow thee. _

Enough liquid was left in the cup to kill one more. _Oh sweet Elixir, substance of life, let me go too._ I reached for the goblet. "Here's yet some liquor left," I murmured. It was in my hand- death was yet a sip away- but before I could raise it to my lips Hamlet stayed my hand.

"As thou'rt a man, give me the cup."

I persisted in raising it to my mouth. _Just one drop is all I need. One ambrosial drop._

"Let go! By heaven, I'll ha't." Hamlet wrenched the cup from me, scattering the last beads of Eternity like rain. Lifelessly, I regarded the spilt chalice with detachment. "Oh God, Horatio, what a wounded name," Hamlet said, contemplating my face pensively.

_Wounded, indeed._

"Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity awhile and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story."

I bowed my head in dejected silence. _I'll absent from felicity for awhile_, Pledged I. _But not happily do I absent. I will follow you one day, my lord. That I can promise._

From somewhere off, the distant toll of time and marching arose like a mist, clearing my head. The racket was quite tremendous; it could very well awaken the dead. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the king would not suddenly lurch to his feet.

"What warlike noise is this?" wondered Hamlet, gripping my arm tighter.

Young Osric burst onto the scene, stopping abruptly at the vision so displayed before him. His mouth opened and shut several times in wonderment and fear. _Get on with it, fellow, _I mentally kicked him.

"Young Fortinbras," he stuttered. "With conquest come from Poland, to th' ambassadors of England gives this warlike volley."

A wracking cough shook Hamlet at that moment, reducing him to a shadow of what he was. Bright spots of blood colored the ground. "O, I die, Horatio! The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England."

I carefully cradled my lord's head as the life slipped from his grasp, and buried my head in his shoulder so that Osric might not see my unmanly tears for my prince.

"But I do prophesy th' election lights on Fortinbras; he has my voice," continued Hamlet unfailingly.

_How is it that his body grows so weak, yet his voice becomes so strong?_ wondered I.

"So tell him, with th' ocurents, more or less, which have solicited- the rest is silence-" No more could he speak. In my arms, his body trembled and became rigid. He ushered up to Heaven short cries of pain, and, in an instant, released his earthly burdens to depart to that far off place. His body went slack.

Gradually, I rose my head from his chest to gaze upon the face of my dear, belovéd prince. I kissed his brow, murmuring, "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

From just outside the room, the sound of trudging warriors, echoing in its magnificent throes, alighted. "Why does the drums come hither?" I wondered aloud.

Drums, colors, ambassadors, and Fortinbras entered all in gloriously displayed attendance. And just as sudden, the exciting clamor died to a hushed stillness. The young Prince of Norway studied the room in a placid coolness, eyes used to such horror and gore.

Gently, gently, so as not to disturb him, I lay Hamlet's body down, standing to address my future.

"Where is this sight?" Fortinbras finally spoke.

"What is it you would see?" I asked sorrowfully. "If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search."

"This quarry cries on havoc. O proud Death, what feast is toward in thine eternal cell that thou so many princes at a shot so bloodily hast struck?" Fortinbras asked.

Continued an Ambassador, "The sight is dismal, and our affairs of England come too late. The ears are senseless that should give us hearing to tell him his commandment is fulfilled, that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. Where should we have our thanks?"

"Not in his mouth," I nodded my head toward the dead king Claudius. "Had it th' ability of life to thank you. He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question, you from the Polack wars, and you from England, are here arrived, give order that these bodies high on a stage be placed to view, and let me speak to th' yet unknowing world how these things came to about."

_I will carry out Hamlet's last command_, thought I.

"So shall you hear of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, and, in this upshot, purposes mistook fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I truly deliver," I said.

_And deliver I shall._

"Let us haste to hear it and call the noblest to the audience," commenced Fortinbras. "For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, which not to claim my vantage doth invite me."

"Of that I shall have also cause to speak," I answered. "And from his mouth," For a moment, I stared at Hamlet's long dead body, "whose voice will draw on more. But let this same be presently performed even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance on plots and errors happen."

Acquiescing gravely, Fortinbras commanded, "Bear Hamlet like a soldier to a stage, for he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royal; and fore his passage, the soldier's music and the rite of war speak loudly for him. Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this becomes the field but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot."

They hoisted Hamlet up on their shoulders, and, following the processional, I looked back naught but once. I surveyed the room in silent misery. _Death was here, and so was madness. What's left is nothing more than woe, _I thought. _In such a Room of Reckoning. _


End file.
